


Monstrous - Extremely and Dauntingly Large

by domesticheart



Category: Godzilla (2014), Godzilla - All Media Types, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Mild Blood, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticheart/pseuds/domesticheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gigantic monsters briefly meet abominably over-powered god children. Both parties are similarly baffled in some cases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monstrous - Extremely and Dauntingly Large

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what compelled me to write this, but I love it.

Before all stories began, there was land. Land and sea, caught in a battle of wills that would mold deep sea basins and rugged snow-tipped mountains, a struggle which would ultimately result in some of the grandest works ever to be conceived in a wholly natural and pure, glowing birth: nature. A planet ripe with babyhood began to shape itself into something far greater, more fantastic than a simple mound of mud, and even as shards of spaceglass stuck in the celestial child's soft brown skin, the wounds only served to create one of the Earth's most wonderful aspects, which was life.

Life made the planet come into a stirring, vibrant motion; a dance of gently lifting leaves rising up through cracks in the virgin soil, dipping their pale blooms in a graceful bow towards their great mother before reaching up to the father sun; large canopies creating a frame for which the splendor of the sky could peek through, and small processions of stinging red insects crawling up their curving network of green vines. Creatures which would one day be remembered only as the ancients stirred, picking up their heavy limbs and lumbering off across deserts made up of swirling dust and chalky cliffs.

Microscopic organisms thrived in the oceans, drifting aimlessly amongst the rambunctious surf and spray, and died there, settling at the bottom and congealing into a mass of chalky white skeletons, shells and remains. Even in death they were numerous, surpassing the biomass count of any other creature by at least some number reaching into the millions. Feasting on the sun-speckled algae above are a good many shimmering fish, alight with life and an urgency to continue doing so. The abscond towards the surface in a torrent of silver, bubbles warbling in their wake with the force of their resistance against the dark waters.

A few surface into the bright sunlight, plucking up pieces of white foam in doing so, before once again becoming immersed in the relative safety of the ocean. A single fish is snapped up in the beak of a greywhite seabird, and is carried up into the waiting wisps of vapor above. The fish gulps and thrashes, but the last vestiges of salt and home have been left eternally behind. It is thus winged further skyward, into a series of vast pale shapes which lack any real substance, and swirls of golden yellow flame and heat begin to take their toll on the ridged scales and delicate innards of the fish. Flecks of metallic grey chip off and are lost to the wind, and spiral down towards the ocean's volatile, choppy waters.

The poor creature takes its last breath and the bird hurriedly gulps it down a tiny red slippery chute. Then, it drops back towards the water in search of another meal. Peppering the rocks of a nearby beach are hundreds of small crustaceans, itchy sand granules sticking to their eyes and shells. A bare foot with five plump toes attached wriggles in the sand next to a shiny sand crab, and then another foot and a light green sundress follow, plopping into the damp from the edge of a small fishing boat.

Thirty six miles off the coast of this small island in the Pacific Ocean, something stirs deep below the water's surface, far from where any sunlight might reach, sending rivulets of stone crashing across the seafloor. Shock waves travel through the earth like waves, and judging by their immense strength, high tide has risen.

On the shore of the island, Jade Harley looks up from her collection of shells and crustacean skeletons with inquisitive green eyes to watch pebbles and slick stones dance from the distant vibrations. She reaches up, pushes her sunhat back until it almost topples off her mop of curly black hair, and squints against the light of the sun and the sharply glinting sea. Teal-colored shadows fade around the curves of her cheeks from the round eyeglasses she has balanced precariously at the end of her nose.

The sea is silent and seems to resolutely refuse to speak. Lips drawn downwards in her befuddlement, Jade returns briefly to her oceanic trinkets and baubles. Somewhere near the shadowed treeline, she can hear her dog Becquerel whining. She has never heard Bec whine before, much less behave as if he were frightened, but it doesn't distract her much.

Just as she brings a piece of periwinkle blue seaglass up to her discerning eye for inspection, another series of quakes knocks her off kilter. They feel as if their are drawing nearer. She quickly casts her gaze around for the cause of the shaking, but a stinging pain on her hand draws her attention. The glass had been clenched between her fingers and palm in her shock, and a thin trickle of bright red blood stains the cup of her hand a dull brown, small droplets pooling there and sticking to the hair of her knuckles like sugar-water.

Sucking in a sharp breath between her teeth, Jade pats the hand hurriedly against the side of her leg to stem the blood flow. Another rumble sends her bucket of things toppling over, and little sparkling treasures spill across the sand, a few returning to the waves. The girl looks up, automatically eager to reclaim these pieces and therefore tracking their motion, when the first impressions appear on the water. Mouth opening in surprise, she watches as her boat is also dragged out to sea, the meager rope she had hoped to lash to a piece of driftwood or something proving to be totally ineffectual.

Bubbles rise to the water's surface, soft breaking noises disturbed by the torrential sound of cascading water. Jagged shapes as large as mountains break through the waves, and undulate irregularly as if they were being lifted by some unseen force. They appear almost rock-like, akin to some of the jarring cliffs that align beside abyssal drops at the very bottom of the ocean. Jade reels backwards, forgetting her boat and trinkets and sinking further into the soggy sand with each retreating step. In her peripheral vision, Jade can see Bec's white form take off, then reluctantly come back as if waiting for her to follow.

Then, the outline of a mighty set of shoulders emerges from the ocean, covered in scales like the volcanic rocks that line much of the island's western side, greyish black and heavy-looking. What looks like deep sea-life clings to the immense form, some having already perished, swiftly drying out in the harsh sunlight from the unrelenting heavens. A head rears up, and the line of a massive maw is clearly visible, a blunt reptilian snout snuffling at a volume similar to thunder clouds. Vaporous spray is thrown into the open air and fades.

The creature shifts and it feels as if the whole world shakes beneath it. Seawater laps at the beast's sides, no longer maintaining the illusion of stillness, and a tiny figure in a flowy green dress stares up at the giant from her place on the shore, her dog barking urgently at her to come away. Its enormous head lolls in her direction briefly, a downpour of water spilling out of its jaws in acknowledgement, before it leans back into the pull of the sea and presses towards a new resting place.

The last indentions created by the creature fade just as the sun sinks down below the horizon, and Jade sets about scooping up handfuls of wet sand in the hope of finding a loosened scale.

\---

The sheer enormity of the Earth's oceans is baffling. They drop down deep, plunging towards the planet's crust, and then drag along the cracks that form there, heat and magma seeping out in a slow, monotonous flow. Like some sort of gigantic mirror, the ocean renders a clever reflection of the blue, cloud-dappled sky.

Equally baffling are the continents which arch up out of the sea, massive pillars from the bowels of the ocean that are able to support numerous life forms. Hundreds, thousands of minerals and categories of rock are created both as a result of deep sea pressure as well as varying temperatures, sunlight and chemicals. They unite to create the building blocks for mountains, fjords, glaciers and other potentially breathtaking formations which would look less striking on a postcard.

From these natural resources, humanity was able to leave seemingly permanent marks on the landscape as well as establish societal organizations brought about by their ingenuity involved in devising strong structures meant to provide shelter and last. They mastered agriculture and tended the land for their own betterment, simultaneously appeasing the call of the natural world and their own stomachs. Thus, human societies were able to survive the harsh environmental elements that had for so long plagued them, and had time to partake in other uses of their genius thought.

This utilization of thought led to the creation of massive fortresses and temples crafted from sand and stone, and empires, families, tribes and congregations, all with a warm fire at their hearth. It is needless to reiterate the importance of buildings in the development of humanity and its subsequent advances in art, culinary pursuits, government, religion, literature and, above all, technology. Buildings, when paired with railroads and highways, have been integrated into almost all aspects of human life and processes, and undoubtedly forms the basic infrastructure of every major continent, a gleaming metallic skeleton sometimes visible from outside the planet's atmosphere. If this skeleton were to be rendered from the planet in a violent tear, surely all those dependent on it would perish?

All over the world, an orchestra of human voices is sent out into the open expanse of void and twinkling stars, and their message is gladly received by the never ending distance. Many are artificial, or even pre-recorded, and some signals are able to transmit colorful blinking images out into the ether. Most humans enjoy these in the comfort of their homes, assuming the role of a metaphorical deity with unobstructed control over many different mechanisms which can change the very air around them.

Johnathan Egbert is partaking in a generous helping of creamy oatmeal, heated by a precise set of instructions and an almost primitive microwave, when the radio at his elbow crackles to life. He mostly ignores it, still hunched over the bowl and earnestly hoping that the forecast for the day will be merciful.

His glasses are cracked from being dropped many a time, but he doesn't appear to be much concerned by it as his blue eyes continue seek out different articles of mismatched clothing scattered upon his kitchen floor, leading into the utility room. He pours himself another glass of orange juice, slopping a little on the table and distractedly moving to wipe it up with a dish cloth. The radio continues, a woman's voice filtering through the static in sparse gasps.

_"...a large winged monster....flat-headed, wide jaws... crashed into the city of Las Vegas.... several survivors but many shattered families.... maybe two... previously spotted in Hawaii..."_

John listens idly as the radio fades in and out. It sounds like some kind of national news broadcast. A burst of static cuts off part of the woman's speech, and he wanders over by the window to squint at the morning sky. He can see the Seattle Space Needle in the distance, a faded ghost of a tower illuminated by the pinkish light of a new day. A man's voice carries over on the channel's broken chatter.

 _"We are still awaiting a statement from the head of the U.S. Coast Guard.... scientists baffled.... prehistoric sizes.... our meteorologist predicts rainy conditions in the evening,"_ John's brow furrows. He has a job interview in the evening. _"...coming towards Seattle at.... live reporter.... more soon."_

Then, there is a terribly wicked silence, broken only by John's busy chewing. The radio lets out a staticky whistle, and then a siren breaks through, blaringly loud and stirring the glasses and silverware on the kitchen table. Listening closely enough, he can hear most of the sirens across the city springing to life, and what sounds like a firetruck speeding down an avenue far off.

Puzzled, John shrugs on his jacket and heads for the porch, sneakers scuffing lightly against the grooved carpet. He stops just outside the threshold of his front door, and raises a hand to his elderly neighbor who is out to retrieve the morning paper before a neighborhood stray get to it. He has just barely turned to go back inside when a large shadow passes over, engulfing the entire street in dark tones for less than five seconds before continuing forward. Enormous wing beats cause John to stumble, wind brushing all around him in urgent bursts before the effect is gone.

The young man spins on his heel, wind still whipping around his head and tousling his hair roughly, and stares in awe as a gigantic winged beast disappears over the tops of several glinting skyscrapers. It had been huge, dark-colored and made up of sharp angles and leathery-looking wings, like some kind of highly inaccurate and stylized prehistoric monster crossed with a fruit bat.

Trembling slightly from the adrenaline rocketing through his veins, John turns to check up on his panicked neighbor and their toppled mailbox. The satellite dish on the top of John's roof falls over the side just as all the lights in the city go out, and hangs by its cord.

\---

The sun and moon are regarded as polar opposites by much of the world. And, if they ever are to be placed as anything familial in mythology, they still hold very different positions, both literally and spiritually. However, nothing could be further from the truth; they are entirely unrelated, and know nothing of one another due to a lack in any true thought.

Still, it is a charming thought. How whimsical, two celestial bodies prancing about in the grand ballroom of the sky, courting one another with gentle tugs and glowing countenances. A dance that could last for a millennia or two, lilting lips and delicate limbs linked together in the high hope of divine matrimony, all the other spinning worlds and gaseous forms bearing witness to its splendor.

The stars, winking slyly at one another with their burning white, yellow, red and blue eyes; asteroids drunkenly clamoring against one another for a peek; comets making up the silvery, fiery decorations that gently illuminate the moon's rugged features, the sun flaring brighter than ever before and lighting up the whole of the heavens as flaming streamers burst. Surely it would be magical, a moment unforgotten by time and space alike.

Against the starry night, nothing of earthly make can compare. Snow-tipped mountains send their prayers upward, appearing to bolster the cosmic painting with their unwavering faith. This planet has been forged by heavenly forces, garnering much of its features and traits from the betrothed star and dead rock, and is immensely grateful for their patronage.

Leaning on a terrace in upstate New York, a young woman in a soft purple dress is illuminated by pale moonlight wafting down across her shoulders and face. Her hair is cut short, and she idly curls a few loose strands around one of her carefully manicured fingers. A large lock of hair falls across her face, casting half in mournful shadow, and she stares down at the empty garden before her. Slender vines curve around the dark metal bars supporting her weight two stories above the ground.

Voices and the sound of melodious glass tinkling travel from inside the building to her ears, and for a brief moment, Rose Lalonde is caught in profile with pale yellow light painting the side of her face and neck. Then, the light recedes, with it going the scent of sweet-smelling meats and spices, and she is once again swathed in twilight.

Her expression twists from peaceful contemplation to frustration, and she raises a shaking hand towards the waiting glass on the table beside her. For all the world, she cannot imagine why it feels as if this inanimate object is beckoning to her. The glass is filled with scarlet red liquid, tinged with darker purple fluid like poison, and a pungent smell emanates out and fills her nose with promise.

Rose reaches out and cups the underside of the glass and swirls the liquid inside around, watching the colours settle at the bottom. Her dark-painted lips purse in thought, and then she brings the cup to her lips to take a slow contemplative sip. Her mouth has barely curved around the glass's edge when movement from above catches her eye, and Rose looks confusedly up at the night sky. Then, she gapes, lavender eyes widening in horror.

Passing overhead is a moth-like creature of monstrous proportions. Its wings fan out, daintily colored in looping, hypnotic patterns, and the resulting wing beat is silent, disturbing none of the other party guests and causing the towering pine trees below to shift as if by a light breeze. The face is alien, enormous mandibles twitching and dusty pink minute hairs casting soft shadows in the moonlight, and the creature's legs grasp at the empty air. Everything is perfectly still for what seems like an eternity before another faint wing beat casts the creature off over the horizon, which is creamy orange with the light of dawn.

Someone steps out onto the terrace, seemingly peering around for a specific person. Their eyes alight on her frame, laying over a black metal table and with her hand still clutching the flute-shaped glass loosely. They approach carefully with baited breath and lean over her, just long enough to observe the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

There is a soft sigh, for this is the soundest sleep they have seen Lalonde in for as long as they have been under her employment. As the sun rises in the sky ringed by yellowed clouds, faint snores lift upwards into the golden morning.

\---

Underneath the crust of the Earth is heat, generously supplied by the deep vats of magma that reside there, occasionally bursting through the planet's pores in sparks of obsidian-tinged fire. All creatures flee from what might become an ashen death, preserved forever in trappings of burning dust that consumes flesh and bone alike. They send rocks scattering down the mountainside in their fervor to escape, slicing the undersides of their feet and ankles open on the jagged rocks that wait below.

Even now, on the leeward side of the mountain, drought reigns supreme over the land. Every drop of moisture is sapped up by the traitorous sun, causing all emerging plants to appear wretched and horribly twisted. Grotesque shadows form that mock the shape and reflection of what could have been a cool sliver of an oasis, and all suffer for it when crossing the sands.

The heat hangs heavy in the air. Waves of it waft above the ground in mockery of seawater, baking the rocks and sands to broiling temperatures that sting and tear into the feet. Passage across this barren desert land is especially treacherous during the day, but still the night does not offer sufficient relief from the day's onslaught.

Yet, somehow, several species have managed to adapt in this harsh environment. They hide underneath the widely-scattered vegetation, succulents such as cacti and eupherbs among a few others, and desperately search for relief from the sun's rays and a single drop of moisture. Small rodents are sought after by rugged snakes with blackened tongues, slowly seeping into the depths of the cool earth.

Humans, too, have somehow managed to establish themselves despite the many trials and challenges. Substantial populations build cities, aqueducts and groundwater wells, and even live comfortably. Leaving sheltered areas means fighting against a closing dry throat and the sweltering sands, but it is necessary in order to obtain sustenance and continue dwelling in a fully functional society.

Walking down the street underneath sun-baked roofs is David Strider, who is on the lookout for his apartment building's entrance, several thin plastic bags sticking to his arms which are slick with sweat. He wrinkles his dry nose in disgust before reaching up to swipe dripping strands of hair out of his eyes. In doing so, his hands graze over the dark shades balanced symmetrically on his nose. From above, he looks like a sweaty, reddish ant, with a shiny glint from his sunglasses.

The street is mostly deserted, with only a few shop owners meandering just outside their establishment's doors, wringing their hands anxiously for customers. Gleaming cars, which look to be cool to the touch and deceivingly wet with rain, are actually dry as a bone and are nigh unusable because of their high temperature. An empty soda can rolls across the street as the wind picks up, and a few crows sit on a power-line overhead.

All of a sudden, the crows stir loudly, and take off in a new direction leaving only the sharp, piercing echoes of their cries behind. Someone down the street screams. Dave, still trying to keep ahold of the plastic bags which feel as if they are melting into the crook of his elbow, looks up just in time to see a large creature land clumsily on the top of a nearby building, sending the awning and crates outside toppling onto a car.

The thing looks just like a dinosaur, similar to the ones Dave had seen on a school trip when he was younger. Only much, much larger. It appears to be feathered, somewhat, but also reptilian at the same time, colored vibrantly in some places and in others dull. Wicked-looking talons dig into the concrete building below it, sending bits of plaster falling to the street below. Dave is almost surprised that the structure can bear its weight at all. Spikes jut out from the beast's head and chest in places, and a large beak parts to let out a piercing shriek. 

From the street below comes an answering cry from the parked car, a beam having pierced through its windshield and set the car alarm off. The creature appears startled, craning its neck to the side sharply to look at the offending vehicle, and then kicks off the roof in a mighty heave, flapping its gigantic wings several times before flying upwards and out of sight. This sends a powerful wind coursing through the air, and Dave is nearly thrown into the brick wall behind him.

After swiping more sweat off his brow, less surreptitiously this time and from more than just the temperature, Dave sprints away from the car and doesn't stop until he has reached his apartment. It would suck if he had to pay for damage that some big-ass bird caused, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, do I love crossovers. If you enjoyed reading, you can review if you would like to!


End file.
